By Ken Boone
For the past few days, for about as long as I've been stuck inside practicing social distancing, I've been hearing a constant tapping against the transom above my front door. My initial assumption was that it was someone trying to sell me a cure for COVID-19. (We have all kinds of weirdos peddling things in our development). About a week ago, I got a letter from my Home Owners' Association demanding that I have the sides of my house power washed by next Tuesday. It was my first warning, so I don't know what their "or else" will be. The channels I typical watch have turned their programming into "All Coronavirus, All the Time". They don't just run the same stories over and over, they've added slick graphics, theme music, and a parade of medical experts doing interviews via Skype. My reactions to these inconveniences would vary depending on my age and my mood at the time. I'll tell you right now that none of my past reactions made any sense. In retrospect, they were silly, to be kind. When I was a kid, up until my teens, I would express anger and frustration by biting my hand. I would clamp down on the knuckle of my left index finger. In addition to tickling the hell out my friends, that gnawing left a mark that I thought would never go away. Manhood brought about a new coping mechanism. I was old enough to by cigarettes and proudly exercised my right to do so. I justified this vice by saying that I only smoked "lights" and I never smoked more than a pack per day. Whether it was hand-biting or smoking, I also and always yelled and threw things around the room. I justified that behavior by saying that those outbursts were brief in nature. I never engaged i long-running rants. That made it OK. Right? Wrong! Wanting to change my bad behavior, which isn't an easy thing, I noticed that my wife, Celia, would react to life's annoyances in a much more controlled, calm way than I ever could. She would always tell me that my behavior was like taking a cyanide pill and getting pissed that it didn't kill the other guy. I can get my head around that. She'd also ask me what my fears were. Initially, that was the wrong thing to say because most men don't like to admit to fear of any kind. Then she told me what fear is the acronym for: False, Evidence, Appearing, Real. That's very catchy and easy to dance to! So I started chanting the FEAR definition. It took a while because it takes a while for old dogs to learn new tricks. I'm happy to say that I don't bite my hand any. Nor do smoke cigarettes, or anything else for that matter. I'm still loud, but I don't yell or throw things around any longer. And I stopped those things just in the nick of time. There's some very real dilemmas facing us today. Not knowing when things will get better is quite frustrating. Having sensible coping skills in place relieves a lot of tension. Look up the Serenity Prayer and commit it to memory. Now, let's get back to the problems I articulated at the beginning of this post. The tapping on my transom was a male robin looking at his reflection and trying to protect his nest against himself. He'll either stop because he has a headache or summer will give him other things to instinctively do. I responded to the demand letter from the Homeowners' Association by letting them know, via email, that I would address their concerns as soon as possible. I also reminding them that there is a health crisis in this country and requested that they exercise common sense and compassion when dealing with the residents who vote them into office. They "graciously" extended my deadline for compliance to May 31st. I want to write them back, but I should just let it slide. They have to save face, you know. As for my favorite channel running nothing but COVID-19 coverage, I simply change the channel when I've heard enough. I'm binge watching a bunch of movies from that greeting card channel (I'm a little embarrassed to call it by its right name). I've also become a frequent viewer of my local cable news channel. I'm becoming a fan of the anchors, meteorologists, traffic and street reporters. While they cover the virus, the do a bang up job of keeping us informed of the lighter side of life in our community. Well, the Pappa bird is tapping on my window. Let him protect his family. I just hope he doesn't knock himself out, since he's hitting the glass at a high rate of speed. Be safe birdie... and all of you as well!
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By; Ken Boone A few weeks ago, I wrote about my friend Pete. I don't think I mentioned that he's a soft-spoken guy. He's not shy in the least bit. He's funny as hell, so that means that you've got to be on high alert for when he tries to sneak one of his punch lines past you. Trust me; you'll feel as if you just got hit by a truck if you don't see it coming. I learned a lot from Pete during those two summers while our sons were wrapping up their high school baseball careers. To tell you the truth, the boys came to grips that they had reached the end of their playing days before we did! In the twelve years since the boys "retired", Pete was still teaching me things. In particular, I learned the power of understatement. Done properly, it makes me appear more profound, funnier, and less obnoxious. I called him this afternoon. I should call him more often. In fact, I promised him that I'd call him at least once per week. I always make that promise but rarely follow through. So when he picked up the phone, I told how horrible I was as a friend. Then we proceeded to jump into what was our typical 2-4 hour conversation. For the past several years, Pete has wintered in Florida while returning to Rochester for the rest of the year. He's had some pretty serious health issues and lives alone. And after he sold his record label, he's spent much more time in solitude. When I first connected with him, he asked if he could call me back because he didn't want his oatmeal to get cold. That's good because sometimes he forgets to eat. But oatmeal? That's for babies and old people. Who am I to talk. I start everyday with a bowl of Honey Nut Cheerios. And since he is 10 years older than me, it will be in no time that I add oatmeal to my grocery list. Ten minutes later, Pete called me back. I could tell by the sound of his voice that he was worrying about a whole bunch of stuff. So we just took it from the top. Starting with the COVID-19 outbreak, to the apparent incompetence of some of our leaders in Washington, to the bustling streets outside his condo in Florida. The world has gone bat-shit crazy! We are both sheltering-in-place, so we breezed through that topic and onto the next one. Politically, we come down on the same side of this. So we were able really speak our minds without worrying that we would offend each other. He was surprised to hear that the networks were spotlighting America's Future (college students) ignoring the warnings. There were many visuals of kids crowding the beaches at Spring Break. Yup, the world has gone bat-shit crazy! As our conversation progressed, the same thing happened as in past phone calls. The immediate cares of the world disappeared. The moaning and griping were replaced with laughter. He would tell me a story about an encounter he had with some rock legend. Particularly a story when that legend displayed bad behavior. My response was typically to call that person an asshole, and hope that they are broke today, if they are still alive. Morbid laughter floods the phone lines, and the crowd goes wild! We then segue-way to the underlying reason for the call. Pete's next great conquest; the world of podcasting. He's currently going through the normal hiccups that all podcasters encounter when they start. After producing nearly 100 episodes, I myself am still running into these technical glitches. I tell him to relax and keep moving forward, which is like preaching to the choir, because he's the most determined person I've ever met. That phone call lasted between two and four hours. I never check the time of the call on my display. The time always flies by. We ended the call making the same lame promise that we would talk more often. If we kept that promise, we wouldn't be able to play "Can You Top This", where we each plead our case that we're horrible friends! Yesterday, my son called to check in on Celia and me. I told him that we are doing the self-quarantine thing. He told me that it didn't surprise him one bit that I would laugh while I delivered some pretty serious news. I guess that's the protective parent in me. After exchanging pleasantries, the next sound i heard was a hello from my 6-year-old granddaughter. We didn't talk about COVID19, Washington, DC, or Spring Break. We got down to the important business. She told me that she lost a tooth! She also told me that the Tooth Fairy left her $8.00! The Tooth Fairy used to leave her Dad $5.00/tooth. And I thought that inflation was relatively flat these days. Like I said... the world has gone bat-shit crazy! But wait..., there's more!
By: Ken Boone I'm hunkered down in my house while I'm collecting all the information I can in the Coronavirus outbreak. I'm a little worried because, since I'm considered to be in a fairly high-risk group, I don't want to chance a health setback. Trying not to obsess about thing I can't control, I found something that will keep my mind occupied. At least for a little while. I have a love-hate relationship with public performances. Mostly because I'd have flashbacks of hundreds of times I really stunk up the joint. There were quite a few great moments on stage, but the duds far outpaced the successes. I could come up with a hundred lame excuses as to why my performances were, at best, uneven. But the main reason was that I would hit the stage totally unprepared! That's right, I rarely, if ever practiced. When I was a band leader, I was known to hold two hour rehearsals. The band, instrumental and/or vocal, would usually perform quite well. The problem was that I was the anchor that dragged things down. Celia, one the other hand, was a person who would practice for hours on ends. Running scales, practicing performance pieces, and learning a 600-song hymnal, Celia was prepared for anything. And boy did it show! As different as we are in our approach to readiness, we click on stage. I knew that from the first time we played "The First Noel" at a Christmas Eve service a few years back. I'd only been playing the bass for about eight weeks, but somehow I was ready. Maybe it was because I was on the bass, and not faking it on the piano. I'm just saying... As I alluded to in the past few blog posts and podcasts, we are in comeback mode. We can no longer lean on illness as a crutch for not doing what we believe we were called to do. We have to get ourselves back down to figurative fighting weight. We have to dust off the old songbooks. Playing the songs is the easy part. As long as I can sit on a stool with my bass and Celia is at the piano, things will turn out alright. But now that I have a story to tell about the miracle God performed on me, I have to practice telling that story to friends and strangers alike. And as the title of this post suggests, I HATE TO PRACTICE! It's not because I'm bashful. It's not because I get stage fright. It's not because I lack experience. To tell the truth, I don't know what it is. I have a feeling that it's my disdain for appearing scripted. I always told myself that a scripted person is a phony person. I've recorded 28 episodes of my podcast. I've also provided voice-over for dozens of other podcast shows. I started using a script on my episodes. I've always used a script on the other shows. And yes, I feel like a phony every time I record and listen to the playback. While I don't have a large audience, I usually hear that my listeners like the sound of my voice. They say it's soothing. I say they need to get their ears checked. But I thank them from the bottom of my heart. With all of that said, I've been picking up my bass recently. I don't run scales or arpeggios. I simply slap on a pair of headphones and play along with whatever song is in the CD player. I also imagine that I'm playing to a full house at our favorite church. I guess I'm practicing magical thinking. That's not a bad thing. Now all I practice telling my story of healing to a crowd of people. I could either look in my bathroom mirror, or tape a picture of an audience to my computer screen. That way I can imagine I'm working the crowd when I'm actually recording another podcast. Hope that will work! But wait... there's more!
By Ken Boone: She's back, and just in the nick of time! Another episode of the podcast "In Search of Peace & Healing" has been recorded and scheduled for publication! It's been over six months since Celia last recorded an episode of her terrific podcast. As usual, I don't ask a lot of questions, such as her topic, how long does she plan to speak, will she have any guests, etc. I just grab her a bottle of water, turn on her microphone, and wait for her to say a little prayer. As soon as she said "Amen", I hit the record button. Celia's last episode, recorded last August, was devoted to telling her listeners about her first hip replacement surgery. Since the surgery went well, she had very little to complain about. Just the rigors of rehabilitation. Neither one of us knew at the time that we were about to enter a pretty dark period in our lives. Just to recap, I had my medical issues that finally came to a head in September. It took a good two months to get back to a somewhat functional state. Which takes us to November. Celia underwent another hip replacement surgery. Thank goodness that we only have two hips, because the second surgery came with some serious complications. As she began to get into her episode, I noticed a strange thing. Instead of talking about her medical situation, she was talking about mine. Now, I brought up the subject many times on both my blog as well as my weekly podcast. However, I only had my vantage point as a reference. To hear her perspective put things in a new light. I remember her tears when she was pleading with me to purchase a medical device that would notify me if my heart stopped beating. While that debate was quite animated, I can now laugh as she retold the story for her listeners. While my original cardiologist appeared to be very concerned about my prognosis (as was I), all I could think of was the notion that they were running a scam. Don't blame me, my New Yorker came out. They're always trying to get one over on people! Celia's episodes usual consist of her recording two 12-15 minutes blocks, or segments. Toward the end of her first block, she talked briefly about the complications after her second hip replacement. Without telling her story, she suffered a fall in her hospital room caused by an unexplained loss of blood. She also had to go under the knife again to clean out some infection that set in at the incision. During the break we take being recording the blocks, I reflected on my feelings during the most critical time of my illness, and boy was I warped. I knew that my situation was dire, but all I can think about was that all production at Descant had come to a screeching halt. No podcasts (I was producing four different shows), no weekly blog posts, and no periods of magical thinking. When we resumed the session, Celia talked a little more about her health situation. She used that opportunity to express her gratitude that most of her chronic pain has subsided, and that she no longer has to walk with the aid of a walker. That's right... she's the comeback kid who bounced back from almost a dozen surgeries in the past few years! She then deftly pivoted to my recovery. No, not again! She was making me blush! She talked about all the prayers that were sent up on my behalf. And I didn't think people knew who I was. I was always this person's son, that person's brother, the other person's father, and Celia's husband. That's just me suffering from the "Great Imposter Syndrome", and not activating my natural cockiness that's been laying dormant for the past few decades. Because she has a very pleasant speaking voice, my mind sometimes drifts when I record her. It was during the "B Block" drift that it dawned on me that I too was a Comeback Kid. We overcame a lot during the past year. We've overcome a lot during the decade we've been together. The real miracle is that we've resented each other for any hard times. We simply laughed and called them adventures! As she was wrapping up her episode, Celia mentioned that one of the things she looked forward to was for us to resume our music ministry. She always called it one of hope and encouragement, among other adjectives. The format was simple - we would play a few songs, followed by Celia telling her compelling story. Then we'd end things on with an up-tempo number. Easy Peasy! She also said that now, I too have a story to tell. It's one of real-life miracles, like the one that God performed on my behalf. Now if I can just overcome my phony case of stage fright. I have to keep telling myself that if I can write a weekly blog and record a weekly podcast, speaking in front of people shouldn't be too difficult. Besides, I used to do it all the time, back went my performances really sucked! I just finished posting links to the podcast episode, aptly titled "Our Struggles Make Us Stronger". I have a cockpit-styled work space with a corner desk, flanked by my printer sitting atop file cabinet on the left. On the right is my keyboard (the musical kind). Right behind the keyboard is a music stand with the chord changes of another show jingle I recently wrote. All that's left is for Celia to drop in the piano part. I can't wait to press the "record" button and be amazed by what her hands will produce! But wait... there's more!
By: Ken Boone When recording my weekly podcast, I always give my listeners an update on the shows hosted by my wife, Celia, and our "daughter", Angel. They've both been under the weather, for different reasons, until recently. Fortunately, they're doing much better and will be recording and releasing new episodes of their podcasts in the near future. Amen to that! It's been several months since I'd last seen Angel. She used to come to the house most Sundays to record her podcast episodes that would be published every other Thursday. It's been even longer since the last time I saw her husband, Chad. The last time I saw the two of them was the day after I was discharged from the hospital. They came to the house with loads of food and other necessities. As weak as I was, I was no match for them when I tried to pay for the purchases. In fact, they asked me if I needed anything else! That's just the generous nature of the two of them. They are truly family! The type of family you get to pick! Last week, Celia and I jumped at the opportunity to go to lunch with them. This also gave us the chance to meet their daughter, their son-in-law, and their two adorable granddaughters. We'd heard so much about them, but the closest we got to them was "liking" their pictures on Facebook. I'll tell you this... they were better than advertised! While waiting for our food at the local iHop, Chad kept commenting on how good I looked. My color had returned to normal, I got rid of over 50 pounds of excess fluids I was retaining, and my steps had more pep. The best thing about it was being able to fight off Chad in order for me to pick up the check! I tend to think of myself as a relatively selfless, generous person. But I have a few friends who can, and do, put me to shame when it comes to having those attributes. Chad is among them. Angel has those same traits. In fact, you could consider them heroic, because by definition, a hero is one who acts when their is a duty to act. As for me, the older I get, the more selfish I think I've become. Maybe it's because I can sense my mortality better. Or maybe I've grown tired of the perceived attempts at being victimized by people only looking out for themselves. Either way, I find myself constantly questioning my character, even though Celia constantly tells me that I'm still a good person. On my past three or four podcast episodes, I brought a segment titled "Let Me Shop in Peace" to my subscribers. It was a humorous take on commerce's heavy-handed approach to squeezing charitable acts out of their customers. One episode I shined a light on a large discount store. Other episodes featured my favorite supermarket and sandwich shop. None of these businesses needed my money, and made a point of splashing images on the walls depicting giant checks with larger dollar amounts donated (in their name) to worthy charities. Those donations come from profits earned through sales to people like me. Even though I can rationalize their tactics, I still feel a little bad when I rebuff their various pitches for donations. Am I really a selfish S.O.B. or should I just turn back around and give them the mere $2.00 asked me for? I wasn't thinking about it during our meal, but somehow we got to that subject. As I said earlier, Chad and Angel are two of the most genuinely selfless people I've ever met. They give without expecting anything in return. Their example makes me take my own inventory. However, somehow the conversation drifted to how businesses employ different upselling tactics. Some will ask if you want to "Super Size" your meal, while others ask if you want to round up you purchase to the nearest dollar to help some worthy cause. None of the tactics are meant to inflict any noticeable pain on the consumer. But once in a while, you do check your back to see if they put a sign that says "Kick Me" on it! The mild remorse I would feel when I said "no" to the requests quickly left when Chad stated that the sandwich shop I mentioned earlier was the same one whose donation pitch pissed him off the most. In fact, he did a word for word recollection of the pitch which actually made me shutter. If a genuinely generous person like Chad found this behavior annoying, I was right to feel put upon. It also made me grateful that my defenses mechanisms were still functioning. Not to be paranoid, but we always have to keep our guard up because there are others who make a career of trying to separate you from things of value to you. I may bring Chad in to do an episode where can gripe about not being allowed to shop in peace. Or maybe not. All I know is that Angel will be recording new podcasts episodes in the near future. So will Celia. I will also tell you that we won't ask for your loose change to hear those episodes. That's because they're free! Thanks for letting me gripe a bit! But wait... there's more!
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About the AuthorAs owner of the Descant Music & Media Group, Ken is a creator and producer of several podcast shows. He is also a music producer, as well as a writer and an accountant for small businesses and nonprofits. Archives
June 2020
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